


Worst Night Ever

by BlackWolf105



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Everyone else is confused, F/F, Mild Canon Compliant Violence, Root is the least helpful, Shaw is annoyed, This is POI after all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 06:29:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20271457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackWolf105/pseuds/BlackWolf105
Summary: Root blinked. “You want one of us to go undercover as a hibachi chef?”Harold paused for a moment, before nodding hesitantly. “Yes.”/**In other words, Root and Shaw, a hibachi restaurant, and the mob. What could possibly go wrong?*/





	Worst Night Ever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SylviaNightshade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylviaNightshade/gifts).

> Hey again! This is, like, two fics in as many days! I feel like I'm on a role here.
> 
> Just a quick disclaimer, I know absolutely nothing about restaurants, hibachi chef training, or anything like that, so please take anything I say about it with a grain of salt. I also know next to nothing about mobs, mobsters, or the like so...
> 
> Big shout out to SylviaNightshade, who let me borrow her idea for a romantic comedy about a Sushi chef and Hibachi chef working in the same restaurant and falling in love, and turning it into... this. I love you girl!
> 
> Title taken from I'm Just a Kid by Simple Plan  
As always, comments and kudos are much appreciated!

“Harry?” Root called out as she pushed open the gate to the subway, looking around for a moment and not seeing the shorter man.

“In here, Ms. Groves.” Raising one eyebrow, Root made her way over to the subway car’s open door, smirk held firmly in place.

Glancing inside the car, her smirk grew as she took in the scene before her: Shaw was seated at one of the benches, clearly not pleased with being called upon on her supposed day off, and glowering at Harold as he turned to face the doorway.

“You said we had a number?” She leaned against the doorway

“That I did.”

Root glanced over at Shaw, whose expression hadn’t changed since she had appeared in the doorway.

“And it is…” she trailed off, waiting for Harry to continue.

The older man spun in his chair and, clicking a few keys on the keyboard, pulled up a scanned photo of a driver’s license.

The man in the photo was Asian, looking to be in his early to mid-thirties. His hair wasn’t too long or too short and nicely styled, with a nice closely trimmed beard.

“Meet Keiden Fukui, age thirty-four. He immigrated to the U.S. ten years ago, and after about seven years, he became a citizen. Over the last several years, he’s had a number of odd jobs here and there, ranging from a mechanic at a small auto shop in New Jersey to a bouncer at a New York nightclub.”

“That’s quite a switch.”

“Indeed it is Ms. Groves. Two years ago, Mr. Fukui started working at a Japanese restaurant here in the city.”

Shaw looked up, looking mildly less annoyed at the mention of food. “What kind of work?”

“He’s a hibachi chef.”

Root grinned. “Well, it’s a good thing I like hibachi.”

Harold looked rather exasperatedly in her direction. “Considering both Mr. Reese and detective Fusco are currently busy with their day job—” Root hid a smile as Shaw let out a snort from her chair. Harold half-heartedly glared at them both. “I need you and Ms. Shaw to handle this number by yourselves.”

“So what do you say, Sweetie? You up for a dinner date or two?” Root smiled at the other woman.

Harold cleared his throat, recapturing both women’s attention before Shaw could answer. “I’m afraid that’s not entirely what I meant.”

“So what did you mean?” Shaw’s no-nonsense tone brought the smallest of smiles to Root’s face as Harry uncomfortably fiddled with his glasses.

“A chef, even a hibachi chef, has limited interaction with the customers, not to mention it would be difficult to anticipate the specific customers he’ll be serving at any given point. As a result, the Machine and I have taken the opportunity to get one of you hired as a new chef at the same restaurant.”

Root blinked. “You want one of us to go undercover as a _hibachi_ chef?”

Harold paused for a moment, before nodding hesitantly. “Yes.”

Of all the things that she had ever been asked to do for a number, Root had to say, this was one of the strangest.

“Which one of us?”

Harold glanced uncertainly between the two women for a moment, “The Machine and I decided that it would be less… conspicuous for Ms. Shaw to play the role of chef-in-training.”

Root felt her eyebrows shoot up as a smile started to creep it’s way across her face. “You want _Shaw _to be the hibachi chef?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Shaw turn her reignited glare on to her at the undisguised glee in Root’s voice.

“As much as I may be regretting it, yes.”

“So if Shaw here is playing chef, what am I doing?”

“While Shaw is keeping a close eye on Mr. Fukui, you’ll be keeping an eye on the restaurants clienteles in a more conventional manner.”

“So in other words, I’ll be in the restaurant? As a customer?”

Harold narrowed his eyes at the barely-concealed excitement in her tone, speaking hesitantly. “That is what I’m implying, yes.”

Root grinned at him, Shaw’s glare burning into the side of her face. “Wonderful.”

**

“_Why do I have to be the hibachi chef?_” Root bit her lower lip, hiding her grin behind her wine glass as she raised it to her lips.

“Have you seen the sort of coordination that these guys have?”

“_So what?_”

“I have no coordination.”

“_You literally fire two guns at the same time!_” Root let out a small laugh at Shaw’s annoyance, before clearing her throat briefly and sending an apologetic smile at couple next to her.

She turned away, lowering her voice slightly. “Yes, but that’s a different _kind_ of coordination.”

“_I think you’re full of shit._”

Root smiled as the com cut off, taking with it Shaw’s annoyed grumblings, just as the waiter made her way to the table were Root was seated.

The waiter smiled at the group. “So what will everyone be having tonight?”

Root hadn’t really taken the time to really look over the menu – what with being too busy talking with Sameen – so she simply ordered whatever it was that the woman next to her did. Something with chicken and rice.

With another smile, the waiter left. 

**

Shaw growled as she flicked her earwig off before another word could pass Root’s smug lips.

“Well that just won’t do.”

Shaw whipped around, hand instinctively going for the gun hidden in the waistband of her pants.

The man stepped back, his hands raising in mock surrender. “Woah, there!” He let out a small laugh as Shaw slowly lowered her hand. “I didn’t mean to startle you. You must be,” he hesitated, looking at the piece of paper in his hand, “Sameen Hayes?”

He waited for Shaw to nod her affirmation before holding out his hand with a smile. “Keiden Fukui, but everyone calls me Kei.”

Shaw forced a smile to her face, taking the man’s hand.

Her almost sullen silence didn’t seem to bother the chef. “Looks like I’m going to be you’re supervisor.”

“Looks like it.”

Fukui took a step back, his smile never diminishing despite her flat gaze and forced smile. “I think we’re gonna have a great time, working together.”

Less than twenty minutes later, Shaw was ready to take one of Kei’s fancy knives and stab him through the hand with it.

The man was just so _happy_ it was annoying, constantly smiling and joking at Shaw; not _with_ her, that would imply that she were actively participating. While he laughing and joking and smiling, she was mostly glaring at the table, wishing to be anywhere but where she was.

“… you can help.” Shaw tuned back in to Fukui’s words just as he finished his sentence – or conversation, Shaw wasn’t quite sure how long she hadn’t been paying attention.

Blinking, she looked blankly at him.

“While I serve table 7? You can help,” he repeated with a large grin, mistaking her look of blatant disinterest as stunned disbelief.

She forced another smile to her face. At this rate, her facial muscles would need a serious vacation. “Just what I’ve been waiting for.” She tried to force some measure of excitement into her voice, the man next to her clearly buying it.

“_Ms. Shaw_?” Harold’s voice cut through the ambient static in her ear, and she felt her face drop as Fukui turned his back on her. “_I’ve been searching through Mr. Fukui’s financial records, and have found something rather odd._”

Still facing the number’s back, Shaw moved back until she was far enough away to talk without being overheard. “What?”

“_Up until six months ago, on the first of every month, a large sum of money would be transferred into Mr. Fukui’s bank account from a seemingly anonymous one._”

“Seemingly?”

“_Ms. Shaw, I would have expected you of all people to know that nothing is truly anonymous. Especially not for someone with our talents and… resources._” Shaw rolled her eyes at the man’s smug tone, despite his being several miles away and unable to see it. “_However, I must admit that this encryption is rather tricky, even for me, so while I have the bank account number, I’m afraid it’s going to take a bit more time to trace the funds to a name._”

“So do we know whether or not this guy is a victim or perp yet?”

“_I’m sorry to say at this point it could still be either. I trust that you’re keeping an eye on Mr. Fukui?_”

Shaw glanced over at the man, who gathering the tables orders with a abhorrent amount of joy. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“_Wonderful. I’ll let you get back to it then._”

The coms cut off just as Fukui turned around, his ever present smile driving Shaw just that much closer to murder.

“Alright, I’ve got everything set up. You ready to have some fun?”

Shaw grit her teeth behind her tight grin. “You bet.”

**

“… so then Mom says to me, ‘so just what does a self-employed entrepreneur do?’ like it’s some sort of bad thing!”

Root rolled her eyes as she listened in on her neighbors conversation, pretending to be busy on her phone. As much as she usually enjoyed hanging around restaurants waiting for someone to start shooting, she was finding that she typically enjoyed it more when Sameen was with her – and not just because Root was usually banking on _her_ to start off the night.

For the last eight minutes she’d been forced to listen to the woman next to her complain about her rather pathetic work life – and _life_ life – to her somewhat unsympathetic companion.

Who had often been trying to catch Root’s eye, usually with some eyeroll or shake of his head at his dates boring chatter. While Root wouldn’t normally be into the _I’m on a date and its really boring so I’m gonna try and hook up with you _thing, she _was_ fairly bored.

So, maybe she’d led him on a little, smiling flirtatiously and giving sympathetic eyerolls back.

As soon as the food came out, however, the man quickly disappeared from her mind, her attention solely focusing on the chef – or, more accurately, on the shorter, angrier woman at his side. Upon seeing her seated at the table, Root watched the lines of Shaw’s jaw tighten as she discretely grit her teeth and tried to pointedly ignore her presence.

The actual chef, who Root recognized as their number, quickly set everything up before turning and giving the table a wide smile.

“You all ready to have some fun?” With varying degrees of interest and enthusiasm, everyone agreed. “Wonderful. I’m your chef today, Keiden Fukui, and this,” he gestured to Shaw, who blinked before a smile forced its way onto her face. “is my trainee and helper, Sameen Hayes.”

Root raised her hand slightly, lower lip caught between her teeth for a moment as the jovial man smiled her way. “So, is she going to be cooking…” she trailed off slightly, her grin growing slightly as she felt Shaw’s glare burn the side of face.

“Not today, I’m afraid. It’s her first day and we wouldn’t want her light herself on fire or something like that.” The table gave a chittering of laughter as Shaw continued to covertly glare, letting Root know that it wasn’t Shaw that Root should be worried about catching fire.

“No, of course we wouldn’t want that.” From the corner of her eye, Root watched as Shaw’s jaw tightened once more, and she felt her grin rise just that much more at the sight.

The man grinned at her, seemingly enjoying the banter at the expense of his trainee. Which was good, because so was Root.

Glancing at the paper on his tray, Fukui double checked all the orders for the table before beginning to prep the food, talking the whole time, while Shaw just sort of stood there trying not to look too angry at the whole set up and occasionally passed him whatever it was that he needed.

“So,” in a lull during the mindless chatter, Root took the opportunity to catch Shaw’s eye. “you’re new here, huh?”

Shaw’s only response was to glare.

Fukui glanced at the shorter woman for a heartbeat, before giving her a double take, his smile dropping slightly for the first time as he noticed her expression. “Hayes, when a customer asks a question, it’s usually polite to answer.” His tone _definitely _implied that it wasn’t a suggestion.

Root innocently tilted her head to the side with a small pout as Shaw’s nostrils flared slightly at the reprimand.

“Yes.” The woman next to Root pulled back slightly, giving Fukui an look at the curt response, clearly taken aback by the trainee’s brusque manner.

“Fascinating.” Root however, had not such issue. “How long have you wanted to be a hibachi chef? ‘Cause I have this friend see, who’s been thinking about trying it out.”

“Oh really?” Fukui glanced over at Root as he spoke, “That’s an interesting choice. When did this interest start?”

“Well, it’s a pretty recent discovery. You could say it happened almost… overnight.”

Fukui looked impressed; Shaw much less so. “Well, if your friend ever wants some tips, send ‘em to me. I’d love to help however I can.”

Root cut him a smile, ignoring the way Shaw’s hand twitched towards the knife in her pocket. “I look forward to sending them your way.”

The man shot her another grin before turning back to the group as a whole, preparing to begin his show.

**

“Well, I think that went pretty well.”

Shaw closed her eyes as she heard Fukui come up behind her as she was replacing the knives in the block.

“I mean, you _could_ have smiled a bit more. It’s not like it’s gonna kill you.”

She grit her teeth, biting back her initial response of _no, but it might kill you_; the last thing she needed was Finch giving her another discussion about how she shouldn’t incapacitate the numbers.

Letting out a slow breath, Shaw turned back around, making sure to force a smile to her face as she did. “Sorry, I was just…,” she trailed off, not quite sure where to go.

“Nervous,” Fukui finished for her with a sympathetic grin. “Everybody’s that way on their first day. There’s no need to worry about it.” He shrugged. “The job can be stressful, especially when there are… certain customers.”

Shaw frowned. “What does that mean?”

Fukui laughed, semi-disbelievingly. “Come on, Sam. That woman out there?”

Her eyebrow’s came together, not quite sure if he was insulting Root or complimenting her – and as a result, she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to hit him or not. “I’m not sure what you’re implying.”

“She was totally into you.” He raised an eyebrow at her, his grin becoming more teasing. “And I get it, you know. Someone comes in, starts flirting…,” he punched her lightly in the shoulder, and Shaw fought every instinct that told her to break his wrist. “It can make the job a lot harder. _Especially _when you’re into it.”

“I wasn’t- she wasn’t- she wasn’t _flirting _with me.”

The man gave another laugh. “Hayes, you couldn’t keep your eyes _off_ her.”

Shaw grit her teeth. She wasn’t sure who she wanted to kill more: the number, or Root.

**

Root watched as the number and Shaw walked back towards the kitchen.

All in all, she couldn’t figure out who could possibly want the man dead.

Well, other than Shaw, but she always wanted at least one person dead. Two, if Shaw counted Root. Which she usually did.

“_Miss Groves?_” Root subtly turned away from the woman next to her, pulling her phone from her pocket and pretending to get a call.

“Yeah, Harry, what’s up?” Out of the corner of her eye, Root watched as the man’s face fell hearing the semi-flirtatious voice she used.

Smirking into her plate, she tuned back into Harold’s words. “_I’m not sure if Ms. Shaw has had the chance to inform you, but I was doing some research into the possible nature of the threat against Mr. Fukui._”

“Well, I figured that; it _is_ your job after all.”

“_At any rate_,” Harold continued as though she hadn’t interrupted, though she was pleased to note that he sounded slightly more annoyed. “_I have come across a series of bank accounts which I am having trouble accessing. I was wondering if perhaps you would be available to lend a hand?_”

“Well, I _am_ in the middle of a delicious dinner, but I suppose I could help.” Reaching into her bag with one hand, she pulled her laptop from her bag, turning sideways in her chair as she perched it on her lap, careful to hide the view from those around her.

Opening the computer, her screen was immediately filled with lines of code, windows, and different online banking websites from at least five different providers. Taking a few moments to look over what Harry sent her, she began her own investigation.

After several minutes, she finally broke through the various firewalls, and started going through the accounts.

“_As you can see, there are some very interesting deposits being made._”

Root nodded, belatedly remembering that he couldn’t see her, lost as she was in her own world of hacking. “Exact same amount, on the same day, every month, from a different account every time. What’s more interesting is this…” Root sent Harold a screenshot of what she’d found. “Every account is from overseas.”

“_Cayman Island accounts?_”

“No, I’ve already traced them through the proxy servers, and the trail doesn’t lead to the Cayman’s.” She frowned as she realized where the transactions were originating from. “They’re from Japan.”

“_Japan? Well, I suppose considering Mr. Fukui’s origin’s, that’s not the most surprising outcome._”

“I guess not.”

“_You don’t sound convinced._”

Root bit her lip in thought as she continued to try and gain access to the name of the account holders through the banks website. “There’s something… off about this whole thing, Harry. Why would a legal U.S. immigrant need to transfer money from Japanese bank accounts that aren’t attached to his name, or _any_ name for that matter?”

“_You think he may have been involved in some sort of illegal activity prior to his coming to the U.S.?”_

“Considering the money transfers happened even after he moved, I’d say there’s a good chance he was still involved _after_ he immigrated. At least until six months ago. As for the _kind_ of…” she hesitated slightly, remembering that she was, in fact, in public, “extracurricular activities, the only time I’ve seen this sort of thing is when the mob is involved.”

“_You think he could be involved with the mob?_”

“Or at least that he may have been in the past. I’m not gonna lie though, ‘hibachi chef’ doesn’t really scream ‘secret mobster’ to me.”

“_Still it might be an angle that’s worth checking out._”

Root nodded to herself, pulling her phone away from her ear for a second and syncing it with her computer, using the laptop to access the numbers on his cellphone – which of course she’d blue-jacked while he was cooking, and she was sure that Shaw had done it seconds after meeting the man.

Humming quietly under her breath, she went through the man’s contacts.

With just a brief look, she didn’t find anything particularly suspicious. Root sifted through his outgoing calls, finding that most were to numbers which Root herself was intimately familiar – local restaurants that advertised having particularly good and speedy take out options. Only one of the approximately eighteen numbers most frequently called appeared to be a private one. When she switched to going through his incoming calls, she hesitated, brow furrowing as she noted that only a singular number ever called – the same private number.

“Hey, Harry, I may have found something of interest. A singular private phone number.” Taking her lip between her teeth, she quickly sent the number Harold’s way.

After a few seconds of silence, over which only the sound of tapping on a keyboard could be heard through the coms, Harold spoke up. “_I’ve made my way into the phone company…_” more tapping. “_It appears that the phone number belongs to a Mr. Jyouta Kono_.”

Root frowned. “Does this Mr. Kono have any connection to the number?”

“_Other than the fact that the two gentleman appear to both be of Japanese descent, and they call one another rather frequently, not that I can tell at the moment_.”

“Alright,” Root closed her laptop, slipping it back into her bag. “Well, it can’t hurt to investigate him anyway. Maybe he’s the contact?”

“_I suppose it’s possible, I’ll start digging into his finances, see if I can’t find anything out of the ordinary._”

“Thanks, Harry.” With a smile, Root took a sip of her drink, before placing the glass on the table with the intention of flicking her com off, when – accompanied by another crackle of static – a new voice broke through.

“_Umm, guys?_” Shaw sounded… concerned almost – or as concerned as she ever sounded.

Root pulled her eyebrows together, “Shaw, is everything okay?”

“_Doubtful. I’ve just found our number unconscious and bleeding outside in the back alley_.”

“Unconscious? He’s not dead?”

“_No. He’ll have a hell of a headache when he wakes up, but he’ll survive._”

Root pushed her barely touched plate of food away from her seat, dropping a couple of twenties on the table to cover the cost of the wine and service, and ignoring the confused glanced from those around her as she got up and headed towards the entrance to the establishment. “I’m headed to you now, have you swept the area?”

“_It’s clean. Whoever did this is probably long gone; they had at least a five minute head start, and there are three interstates within a two mile radius, not to mention numerous main roadways and countless side streets they could have used as a getaway._”

Pushing open the front door, Root shivered slightly as the chill of the night air hit her arms, and she regretted not grabbing her leather jacket off her couch when she’d left the house. “I don’t understand. Why would whoever wants this guy dead not take the opportunity to do the job right?”

“_Oh, dear._” Root’s lips parted slightly, as Harold started, his own voice tinged with worry.

“What, what’s going on?”

“_I fear we’ve made a dreadful mistake._”

***

Shaw watched as the man made his way out the door of the small store room, still chuckling slightly to himself, and she forced herself to slowly release the handle of the knife she hadn’t realized she’d been gripping.

Letting out a slow breath, she pulled her apron off, throwing it haphazardly into the corner, nearly snarling at the cheerful sign hanging on the wall reminding all employees to neatly hang their aprons and hats on the provided hooks.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, she let out a quiet groan as she realized that, unless something dramatic happened in the next twenty minutes, she’d be stuck there until the end of the shift – nearly four hours away.

And while she may not mind being surrounded by food – even if she was the one making it, not eating it – she wasn’t sure she could handle another ten minutes alone with Mr. Sunshine-and-Rainbows, much less four hours.

Gritting her teeth in preparation for what was to come, she pushed open the door, entering the abandoned hallway leading towards the dining room, kitchen, employee breakroom, and eventually, to the employee entrance. Looking both ways, she frowned slightly as she noticed that the number was nowhere to be seen, which was odd considering since stepping into the restaurant hours earlier, she couldn’t walk ten feet without nearly tripping over the man.

Narrowing her eyes, she moved nearly silently down the hallway, briefly checking the kitchen, dining room, and breakroom before moving towards the back door.

Pushing it open, she paused as her eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness in the alley – the only light source being the light directly above the door.

With the door to the restaurant held open, the light from inside illuminated a swath of the ground and a large chunk of the building across the way. She could see the slightly overflowing dumpster against the building opposite her, a few cigarette butts laying on the ground where some other employee or another had thrown them after the occasional smoke break, and the standard pieces of litter and garbage that usually lived in New York City’s back alleys.

She couldn’t imagine that the ever happy and optimistic number would spend his break time out there, in the dark and – considering it was early April – cold, rather than inside where he could heckle his coworkers more freely, but she figured it couldn’t hurt to take a look around.

Stepping into the night, she allowed the door to close behind her, a large majority of the light disappearing as it clicked shut, leaving only the weak, flickering, bulb of the emergency exit sign. Pulling her phone from her pocket, she thumbed it open, pulling up the flashlight and flicking it on, while she drew her gun with her other hand.

Moving slowly, she swept the area, first focusing on the dead-end of the alley, before turning towards the entrance, her light freezing almost immediately on the barely noticeable lump lying next to the dumpster, half hidden by the piles of garbage bags and broken cardboard.

She cautiously approached, not knowing if it was just another, oddly shaped garbage bag, or if it was something else. Reaching it, she saw that it was not in fact a pile of garbage, but rather a person, and when she carefully kicked them over, she swore out loud as she realized just who it was she had found.

Dropping to her knees, she placed her gun beside her as she reached over to check for a pulse – noting the blood covering half of the man’s face from the head injury she hadn’t noticed before – at the same time she flicked on her earwig, cutting into whatever conversation Finch and Root had been having.

“Umm, guys?”

Instantly, Root’s concerned voice filled her ear. “Shaw, is everything okay?”

She let out a quiet snort. “Doubtful. I’ve just found our number unconscious and bleeding outside in the back alley.”

“Unconscious?” The concern had melted away slightly, replaced with confusion. “He’s not dead?”

“No.” Shaw pulled her hand back from Fukui’s neck, having found the pulse she was looking for, and instead began inspecting the head injury. Just looking at it, it appeared as though something heavy had struck the man in the side of the head, resulting in the split skin and bruising around the area. She didn’t feel any shifting of the skull, however, and the bleeding had already stopped, so she assumed that whoever had struck him didn’t want him dead, just out of commission. “He’ll have a hell of a headache when he wakes up, but he’ll survive.”

“_I’m headed to you now_,” Shaw heard the sound of chair legs scaping across the restaurants tile floor, “_Have you swept the area?”_

Shaw nodded, knowing full well Root couldn’t see her as she once again glanced around the alley. “It’s clean. Whoever did this is probably long gone; they had at least a five minute head start, and there are three interstates within a two mile radius, not to mention numerous main roads and countless side streets they could have used as a getaway.”

“_I don’t understand, why would whoever wants this guys dead, not take the opportunity to do it right?_”

Shaw couldn’t deny that had been thinking the same thing, and was just opening her mouth to express that when Finch cut in, his voice tight with worry.

“_Oh, dear_.”

“_What, what’s going on?_”

“_I fear we’ve made a dreadful mistake._”

**

Shaw unceremoniously dumped the number’s upper body onto the safehouse’s couch, Root somewhat more gently setting his feet down as the former disappeared into the bathroom for a heartbeat, returning with a medical kit in one hand.

“Here’s what I don’t get.” Shaw didn’t look up as Root as started talked, pulling on a pair of surgical gloves and taking hold of a few disinfectant wipes, the slight pause in her motions the only indication Root had that the other woman was in fact listening. “If this Kono is the guy who got kidnapped, why did we get this guys number, instead of his?” She glanced once again at the screen of her phone, which was showing video footage Harold had gotten from a security camera across the street.

In the video, she could see the number exit the building, where another employee of the same restaurant was already waiting – the same man whose number was programmed into Fukui’s phone. Jyouta Kono. For a couple of minutes, the two men talk, before a black SUV pulls up in front of the alley, effectively cutting off all line of sight, and since the video didn’t have an audio component, it was impossible to know exactly what happened in the forty-five seconds the car was parked. After that, the video could barely make out what looked like a door closing on the other side of the car, before it peeled off into traffic, leaving behind Fukui. Three minutes later, she watched as Shaw exited the building.

Shaw shrugged. “You’re the one with the all-seeing other half, why don’t you ask her?”

Root pouted at Shaw, though she knew the other woman wasn’t watching. “I did. She didn’t tell me anything.”

Shaw let out a sign as she stepped back having bandaged the wound, admiring her handiwork. “Well then, I guess we’ll have to ask him.”

“And how exactly do you propose to do that?”

Shaw shot her a look, to which Root responded with a simple wide-eyes look of innocence. “We wake him up?”

“Yes, but he’s unconscious.” Root smiled to herself as her comment earned her an eyeroll.

Pulling off her gloves, Shaw reached back into the kit and pulled out smelling salts, holding them up sarcastically for Root to see. “That’s what these are for.” Moving back towards the unconscious man, she slipped one hand under his head, propping it up, as she used the other to hold the salts under his nose.

Moments later, the man started slightly, blinking rapidly as he returned slowly to his senses.

He blinked up at Shaw, confusion coloring his features. “Sam? What the hell…” Groggily, he pushed himself up with one hand, the other pressed against his forehead.

As soon as he was in a relatively straight sitting position, Shaw released her hold and stood, stepping back as the man looked around. Blinking, he shook his head slightly, wincing slightly at the movement. “This isn’t the restaurant…” Root resisted the urge to jump in with _no shit_. “Where the hell are we?”

“Someplace safe.” The man’s eyes found her for the first time, his confusion only deepening as his look of vague alarm turned into one of recognition.

“You, you’re the woman from the restaurant.”

Root smiled, tilting her head slightly to side as she did. “Well, I’m glad to know that I made an impression at least.”

Fukui blinked at her, looking between her and Shaw for a moment, before turning to the latter. “What the hell is going on here, Hayes?”

“Well, for starters, my name’s not Hayes.” Fukui stared at her for a moment, before giving a small shake of his head again and opening his mouth, only to be cut off. “And second, I’m not a hibachi chef in training.”

“Then who the hell are you?” He was starting to sound panicked.

Root dismissively waved a hand at the man’s question. “Names aren’t super important at the moment, but if you _must _know, you can call me Root.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Shaw roll her eyes at the semi-condescending tone. “And that’s Shaw.” The man’s eyes flickered back and forth between the woman once again. “As for where we are, that’s irrelevant.”

“What’s _not _irrelevant,” Shaw’s cold tone cut in, “is who wants you dead, and why.”

Root was fairly certain that Fukui’s eyes were going to fall out of his head in the next few seconds.

He opened his mouth once or twice, no sound escaping.

For a moment the three of them just stood there – or in Fukui’s case, sat there – staring at one another.

All of a sudden, the number’s head jerked up, his breath catching in his throat with such urgency that Root started slightly.

“Joe! Where’s Joe?” Root furrowed her brow slightly, glancing at Shaw and seeing that she seemed equally confused at the unfamiliar name.

Root’s mouth opened slightly as she realized who much be that the man was talking about. “You mean Jyouta Kono?”

The man nodded, the panic which had mostly receded from his expression coming back full force. “Yes, he was with me, in the alley, when-”

“He’s gone.” Root winced as Shaw abruptly cut in, her voice devoid of any emotion. “Whoever attacked you took him.”

All the color drained from the number’s face as he slowly slumped farther into the chair, leaving Root vaguely worried he was going to pass out.

“Oh god, this can’t be happening.” Root furrowed her brow, stepping closer to the clearly distraught man.

“What can’t be happening?”

Fukui continued to stare straight ahead as though he hadn’t heard her, still muttering under his breath.

“Keiden,” Root spoke his name sharply, managing to draw him out of his own head. His eyes snapped towards her own, filled with tears and brimming with distress. “We’re here to help you _and_ your friend, but in order for us to do that, you need to tell us what’s going on.”

He shook his head. “_They_ took him, that’s what happened. They _took _him.” He sounded on the verge of tears.

“Who, who took him? And why would they take him, instead of you?”

“Because, they knew he was why I left in the first place, and that I would never go back _because _of him.”

Root closed her eyes briefly, fighting down the annoyance she felt at his non-answers. The man was clearly in distress, and it wouldn’t do any good to snap at him. “Keiden, you need to stop talking in riddles and just _tell_ me what’s you know. _Who_ took Jyouta?”

“The Yakuza.” So it _was _mob related. Looking briefly over her shoulder, she nodded at Shaw, who looked equally unsurprised, showing that she had probably been suspecting as much.

Turning back to Fukui, Root continued, “So, now we know, _who _took Jyouta, can you elaborate on _why_?”

The man swallowed, “Joe, he goes by Joe.” Root nodded, filing that away for later. “And they took him because of me.”

“Yeah, we got that.” Apparently Shaw _hadn’t_ tried to contain her annoyance. “Are you ever going to tell us _why_?”

His eyes flickered towards Shaw for a second before he spoke, his voice ragged with unshed tears. “Because,” his voice cracked, and he closed his eyes to steady himself, “I love him.”

**

After a couple of minutes, some deep breathing exercises, and a glass or two of water, the two women managed to get the full story out of Fukui.

Apparently, he had gotten mixed up with the mob back in Japan as a teenager, when he stole four hundred dollars off one of the members. When they managed to figure out who had done it, Fukui had been offered a choice: join or die (a little cliché in Root’s opinion, but in her experience, enjoyed those kinds of things). He then moved to the United States where he worked for a branch of the mob in New York. A few years ago, he’d gotten a second job at the hibachi restaurant, where he inadvertently met Jyouta Kono, a sushi chef at the same place. The two had hit it off, and eventually became friends, before becoming a couple.

Six months ago, Keiden had decided that – despite Jyouta knowing about his past with the mob – he didn’t want his partner involved in that life, and so had decided to cut all ties with the Yakuza.

As for how that turned out, well, Root was a little confused as to why he didn’t see something like this coming.

Turns out, for someone who’d worked for the mob for nearly his entire adult life, he was pretty naïve in how any of it actually worked. That or he was just dangerously optimistic.

Leaving the man to recover from his ordeal in piece, Root grabbed Shaw by the arm and dragged her over to the built in breakfast bar, hopping up on one of the stools as Shaw took up residence standing at the end.

“What the hell did he _expect _to happen?” Shaw shook her head, talking almost immediately after Root sat down, and not really bothering to keep her voice down. “That he could just turn in his retirement papers and they’d give him a nice paycheck or a pat on the back and let him be on his way?”

Root shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe.” Shaw looked at her incredulously. “Love can make people do or think things that common sense would contradict.” As she spoke, her mind thought back to the ten months where everyone – including the machine – had told her to give up, to stop looking, that it was hopeless, that Shaw was gone. She alone had still held the belief that out there, somewhere, Shaw was alive and breathing, waiting for her.

Turned out, she was right.

From the way that Shaw turned her head away from Root’s gaze, she knew that the other woman was thinking along the same lines.

“I mean, at least he didn’t stand on the edge of a building with his eyes closed, playing a game of chicken with an ASI.”

Shaw rolled her eyes at Root’s teasing tone, her attempt to break the slight tension between them. “You’re right; he’s naïve, not an idiot.”

“I wouldn’t say I was being an _idiot_.”

Shaw snorted, “You’re literally the only one.”

Root let out a small laugh, a smile crossing her face.

Suddenly, she heard a burst of static from her implant.

** _Four. Twenty. Seven. Whiskey. Echo. Sierra. Tango- _ **

Root grinned at Shaw as the multitoned voices chirped in her ear, the other woman watching her in anticipation. “She managed to track the car, got a location on it.”

Root’s gaze slipped behind Shaw’s shoulder, back to the slightly less panicked but still distraught man sitting on the couch, gaze fixed on a point in the distance with his barely touched glass of water clutched in his hands. “So what are we gonna do about him?”

Shaw twisted around, “Well, I suppose we’re gonna rescue his boyfriend and convince the mob to leave him alone.”

“I can’t imagine that’s going to be particularly easy.”

Shaw turned back to her, a smirk already in place. “Where would the fun in that be?”

**

“I’m coming with you.”

Shaw glanced up from the duffle bag containing her numerous weapons to find Keiden standing a few feet away, looking at her.

“I’m sorry?”

“I heard you talking, I know that you know where Joe is, and I’m coming with you.” Shaw blinked at the man, wondering exactly how stupid he really was.

“Look, Kei, I get that you know how to toss a knife around and cut meat, but this isn’t going to be some show you’re putting on.”

He glared at her, the first sign of emotion that wasn’t grief, panic, or distress since he’d woken up on the couch. “I know that, I did work for them for years.”

Shaw stood up, frowned slightly when she realized her full height was still an inch or two shorter than him. “Yeah, I got that. But if that meant you actually _knew _anything about how these people worked, you’d have realized just how stupid your whole plan was to begin with.”

She expected him to get angry, defend his idea – no matter how stupid it had been. What she didn’t expect was that he would deflate, seeming to shrink several inches as his entire body slumped, the determined look in his eye disappearing as it was replaced with the guilty one he’d been wearing for the better part of the morning.

“I know.” She blinked. Usually when she insulted people’s plans, they didn’t automatically agree with her. Then again, she was usually insulting Root’s plans, and she never agreed with Shaw on anything. “That’s why I have to do this. It’s my fault Joe’s in danger, and I need to help make it right.”

Shaw pursed her lips as she looked at the man standing in front of her.

Despite the dejected, guilty air he gave off, his eyes still held a faint glow of determination, as if he really believed that it was his duty to fix the problem he had created. Which, although it was a sentiment that Shaw was always led to believe was _supposed_ to be normal, she had never really seen anyone try and uphold it – aside from Harold, possibly Fusco, and occasionally John.

And of course Carter, but she was a walking example of humanities ideal.

Letting out a small sigh, she reached into her bag and pulled out one of her spare firearms, checking the magazine before passing it grip first to Fukui, who took it was a barely concealed grin that didn’t belong on _anyone_ being handed a firearm.

“I hope you know how to use that.” The man nodded as he took the firearm and tucked it away in the inside of his jacket.

“I’ve used one a couple of times in the past, although never against the Yakuza.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” Shaw turned back to her bag, continuing the packing she had been in the middle of before she was interrupted. Fukui clearly took the gesture as a sign of dismissal, and without another word, headed back towards the couch.

“Oh, and Kei?” Shaw twisted around to look the man in the face as he too turned to look at her. “Try not to aim for center mass.” The man blinked at her in confusion for a moment before she clarified. “The boss man doesn’t like it when people die.”

**

Twenty-five minutes later, Root glanced around the empty street as she excited the car, her guns drawn and ready to be used at a moments notice. She grinned over the hood of the car at Sameen as the other woman got out of the driver’s side, muscles tensed in the gleeful anticipation of a fight.

Shaw returned her wide open grin with a small, barely-there smirk of her own.

The back door of the car opened as the number got out, his own expression far different from the two women’s. Despite his assurance the entire drive to the address that he was, in fact, comfortable with the idea of aiding in the attack, his expression now was one of apprehension and possibly fear.

“You know, it’s not to late to sit this one out.” Although she didn’t particularly address the man, he looked her way, knowing she wasn’t talking to Shaw.

He took a deep breath, swallowing slightly as he gazed up at the decrepit apartment complex standing ominously in front of them. “I can do this.” He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than her.

Eyebrow raised, she shared a look with Shaw over the car, silently wondering if it would be better for everyone if she just instructed the man in no uncertain terms that he was to remain behind in the car.

After a silent debate, she decided she’d give the man a chance to prove himself. He could turn out to be rather helpful after all.

And if he didn’t, well, she still had Shaw there to help clean up any messes.

Fifteen minutes later, Root was sitting with her hands tied behind her back, a bullet wound in her shoulder, and a raging headache from getting hit in the head with a two-by-four.

She was also sorely regretting her decision to let Fukui come along.

Everything had started off well; they had made their way quietly into the building (with the help of The Machine of course) and were doing a good job of avoiding any and all security cameras that might alert the mobsters of their presence.

That is, until they actually ran into one.

Or ten.

When the shooting had initially started, Root was almost impressed with Fukui’s ability to keep his head down and stay calm. Very quickly however, it became apparent then when Fukui said he had handled a gun before, he failed to mention that he was _terrible _with them.

He had only managed to make one shot before he’d been overrun and quickly knocked out, and the bullet had missed the mobster by about ten feet.

Her and Shaw had managed to take down about six of the muscle before Root had taken a bullet to the shoulder and piece of wood to the head. Judging from her own lack of injuries, Shaw had apparently decided to surrender.

So now the three of them were seated in chairs in what appeared to be the furnace room of the apartment building, tied up, and waiting for someone to come and talk.

Behind her, Root heard a door open, followed by several pairs of footsteps. Twisting her head around slightly, she watched a group of maybe seven people make their way into the room.

The leader of the group was dressed in a nice suit, one that Root was sure he would be unhappy to get covered in blood. The rest of the men were in more classic “muscle” outfits – flashy, ill-concealed guns at their sides, black pants, boots, and tight t-shirts. Root did note with mild interest that two of the men were dragging a person between them.

This mystery person had a black hood covering their face, and their hands and feet were bound with zip ties similar to the ones that were restraining her and her companions.

Even before the hood was removed, it didn’t take a genius to figure out who was under it.

The two men dumped Jyouta on the floor, one stepping back while the other drew his pistol.

“Well now, what do we have here?”

Root turned her attention to the leader of the group, who had come to stand in front of her. Tilting her head to the side slightly, she pondered the question for a moment. “I’d say a bad cliché from a B list mobster movie,” her eyes drifted up and down the man’s attire, “but that’s just me.”

The man gave a small laugh at her words, while out of the corner of her eye she could see Keiden and Jyouta giving her panicked glances, clearly thrown off by her seemingly blasé attitude.

On her other side, Shaw just looked bored.

“Well, I suppose we captured quite the feisty one, didn’t we?”

Root grinned, managing to flip some of her hair out of her face. “I’ve certainly never been called boring.”

The man smirked. “No, something tells me you’re not. You know, it took quite the effort to apprehend you and your friend here.” He nodded in Shaw’s direction. “You managed to take out an impressive number of my best men.”

“_Those_ were your best?” Root hid a smirk at the disbelief in Shaw’s tone, “You should really look at upgrading your security department.”

The man’s jaw twitched slightly, clearly unhappy with Shaw’s mocking tone. “They managed to beat you, didn’t they?”

She shrugged. “I’ve had a long day. You try taking on ten mobsters on two hours of sleep and one cup of coffee and see how many guys you manage to take out.” She gave him a smile, her teeth showing as excitement sparked in her dark eyes. “Thanks to you though, I’ve had the time for a little nap. Untie me now, and I’ll show you exactly what I can do.”

Root stifled another smirk at the angry – and slightly nervous – look the man gave Shaw. “Unfortunately for you, that won’t be happening. See I don’t actually care what happens to you; all I want is Mr. Fukui here to reconsider his retirement.” The man gestured to one of his guards, who stepped forward, flashing the gun at his waist to the room. The guard didn’t say anything, but the meaning was entirely clear.

“As for you two…” his gaze trailed between Root and Shaw as he trailed off slightly, ending with a slight shrug. “Well, I don’t need you.” He gestured again to his guard, who drew the gun, pointing it between the two woman.

Behind the mobster, she saw Kei’s face drain of any and all color it had left as the weight of the situation truly dawned on him. “No wait!” The mobster didn’t even bother to turn around fully, simply turning his head enough that he gave the illusion of listening to Fukui all the while he kept his eyes on Root, watching her expression. “They don’t have anything to do with this.”

The mobster laughed. “As far as I’m concerned, breaking into my facility and taking out my men _made_ them a part of this.”

Kei swallowed slightly, his defeated gaze flickering to Root’s own for a moment. Now, Root hadn’t known the man for very long, and coming from most people a look like that would normally indicate that she was about to die, but coming from this man? It meant he was about to do something stupid.

“Look, if you let them go I’ll- I’ll go back to working with you.” Root resisted the urge to reach over and slap him – which of course she could do considering she’d untied her hands minutes ago. The only reason she hadn’t made a move yet was because she was sort of interested to see where this would go, and her arm really hurt.

“That’s wonderful to hear.” The man’s pleasure was evident in his words. “However, I’m not sure you understand something. See, I’m a man of my word, Mr. Fukui, and when I decide to do something, I do it. Perhaps this will teach you to remember that the next time you think about crossing me.”

Kei’s eyes widened in horror as the man in charge turned back to Root, taking the gun from his subordinate and pointing it at her head, before turning it on Shaw. “So, who should be first?”

Root looked over at Shaw, who looked back at her. “Well, I don’t know. Do you have any ideas, Sweetie?” From the corner of her eye, she saw the mobsters face contort in confusion at her conversational tone.

Shaw blinked at her for a moment, before nodding slowly. “Yeah, I do.” She switched her gaze from Root to the mobster in front of her, who in turn looked at Shaw. She tilted her head to the side, her small smile appearing once more. “You.”

**

Shaw dropped the broken remnants of the chair to the floor as she surveyed the damage.

The four guys with bullets in their knees were curled up on the floor, groaning quietly, while two guys were unconscious from blood loss already. The lead mobster was down on account of having a chair smashed over his head.

All in all, she was pretty satisfied.

Turning back to the small group of people still standing – or sitting as the case may be – she pulled a knife off on the guards and proceeded to cut the restraints on the number and Jyouta.

When she turned around to free Root, she was mildly taken aback to see Root already standing, her hands free.

Scrunching her eyebrows together, she stood up. “When the hell did you get free?”

Root blinked at her for a moment, before shrugging slightly. “About two minutes after Al Capone here came in.”

Shaw blinked at the other woman, a familiar feeling of anger pulse through her. “So you’re telling me, you were _free_ and you didn’t think to help?” She gestured around at the mobsters.

Root grinned, “Why would I help when you look so good doing all the heavy lifting?”

She grit her teeth, her glare intensifying. “I’m going to strangle you.” Even as the words left her mouth, she instantly regretted them as Root’s face lit up, a mischievous smirk gracing her features.

“_Here_?” Root was practically purring. “You know, Sweetie, if you wanted an audience, you could have just _asked_.”

Shaw resisted the urge to shove Root’s injured arm into a wall as she none-too-gently pushed past her and into the hallway, ignoring Root’s playful laughing and the strangled laugh gasps from the two men.

**

“So, you really think we’ll be safe?” Kei looked up from the envelope in his hand.

She was standing outside of J.F.K. airport with the number and Kono, ready to wish them off on whatever non-mob related adventure lay ahead of them, Shaw standing a few feet away, leaning against the car.

Root tilted her head to the side, “Well, those envelopes contain new identities, cash, passport and everything else you need to disappear, so I’d say that as long as you stay out of trouble, you’ll be fine.”

For the first time since hearing about his boyfriend’s capture, a genuine smile broke out on the man’s face.

Jyouta looked up from his own envelope with a look of shock and not a small amount of gratitude. “How are we supposed to ever repay you?”

“How about you don’t get involved with the mob?” Kei nodded very quickly, his smile dropping slightly.

“Don’t worry, that’s one mistake I’ll never make again.”

Root smiled at the man. “Glad to hear it.” She glanced at her watch. “Now if I’m not mistaken, you have a plane to catch.”

Keiden nodded, “Yeah, we do.” Jyouta thanked her profusely one last time before grabbing his bag and heading towards the airport doors, Keiden on his heels.

After a step or two, the latter turned back around, his mouth open as though he wanted to say something, but no sound was coming out. He paused, his gaze flickering back and forth between herself and Shaw for a moment, before nodding to himself. “Also, can you do something for me?”

Root looked confusedly at him. “I guess that depends on what it is.”

He smiled at her. “Don’t let her go.” His gaze flickered to behind her, and she instinctively turned her head, following his gaze to Shaw who was looking at something on her phone. “You’re both crazy, but somehow the crazy works together.”

Root felt her face split into a wide grin as she looked back at the number, suddenly rather sad to see him go.

“Trust me, I know.”


End file.
